Hippie week

...Around this time I sold my motorbike and bought a three-wheeler Reliant Van. It was bright orange. I had already passed the motorbike test, and you were allowed to drive one of these on a motorbike license, which I always thought rather odd as it’s just like driving a proper car. Anyway, after a few hair-raising episodes I soon became a proficient driver; I just needed to remember not to take bends too fast or you could tip over (which I never did). It was great fun and a bit like being part of a club. Whenever you saw another one on the road, the driver would raise their hand to you in acknowledgement. At the time, there were a lot of these three-wheeler Reliants on the road; in fact, the local garage dealt in them specifically. They came in many different bright colours: orange, yellow, red, light blue - the forecourt of the garage was a proper picture to behold!  For a while, I dated a fella who had one the same as mine, only it was brown. He was a bit of a hippie. He had long hair and a beard, and a soppy black dog. He knew about Bob Dylan. We went on a few dates to pubs by canals. He lived with his elderly mother. Unbeknown to her he was growing weed in a makeshift greenhouse in the back garden. I didn’t know about this until I visited his home. He proudly showed me his cultivated crop, and swore me to secrecy. I wasn’t impressed. I was more than a little apprehensive (i.e: apprehensive). I didn’t know about drugs. I didn’t want to know. I needed my wits about me, not off on some magical mystery tour. I didn’t tell anyone, but that was basically it as far as our relationship went. Coincidentally, I ran into this very same person just the other week. He’s married with a family now, and has had his own personal tragedies, which I won’t go into. The odd thing is he asked me if I’d written my book yet. After all this time that’s what he remembers me for!  I said, ‘no not yet, I have to earn some bread man.’

​
​